


A silent promise

by Sternenstaub



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Forehead Touching, Geralt believes he's a monster, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sternenstaub/pseuds/Sternenstaub
Summary: Geralt wants nothing more than Jaskier by his side but thinks he doesn't deserve it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 144





	A silent promise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A promise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211032) by [acrosspontneuf (FangedAngel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/acrosspontneuf). 



> My friend yas wrote a super cute fic for these both idiots in love and it sparked in my the idea to write a companion fic from Geralt's POV. You should probably read her fic first to understand this one fully. Though it's mostly feels and barely plot.

The door opens with a gust of wind, slamming against the rickety wall of the shabby inn and Geralt winces from the sound. The inn is mostly empty but the few people inside stare at him with fearful eyes. He can smell their bodies reacting to a danger they can not understand and could never be fast enough to flee, should it ever come to that. He feels his eyebrow ticking, the arrow literally struck a nerve it seems and even with his healing abilities, it's damn annoying. The scowl it brings to his face doesn't help the few guests to think him less a danger. Or maybe it's the blood running down his cheek. 

Ignoring their stares, he walks to the bar, to the one person who has not turned around. He startles so much, his beer spills over the counter, to the dismay of the barkeep. The steady smell of lavender and pine mixes with sour beer and something akin to fear. Geralt's nose wrinkles. He's used to this. He knows people don't like to have a witcher next to them, or in the same building as them, but he had thought… No. He was used to this. 

"He'll have a Rievan Kriek."Geralt says, nodding slightly towards the man next to him. He looks beautiful, blue eyes, full lips, brown hair. Everything Geralt is not. But he also looks tired, his clothes are just barely this side of clean and the hems look frayed. Jaskier looks at him with bright eyes like he sees the sun for the first time after long winter months, the acidic smell of fear gone in an instant. The order is a silent apology for spilling his beer and also, though he doubts Jaskier will realize it, for keeping away for so long. The indignant sputter, the "you don't know what I drink." is as much show as anything else. They both know. They've been traveling together for months. Geralt ignores it, ignores the steady drumming in his head, the feeling of blood slowly dripping down his face and revels in the closeness he's allowed. The lack of fear in Jaskier's voice, his outrage when he hears humans attacked him. He had missed this, had run from it. Being close to a human was dangerous, for them both.  
One day Geralt would get distracted trying to protect them both, one day Jaskier would get hurt or realize the real monster is the one he shared a campfire with. And he wanted to avoid that day more than anything, so he avoided the bard next to him. But never for long. He couldn't stay away for long. Not from the only person who followed him, who traveled with him, by choice and not because destiny pulled at them. 

Jaskier reaches out to him, trying to touch his shoulder and he shies away like the stray dog he sometimes feels like. Seeing the bard's face fall, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes behind the tankard, he hates himself for it, but it's better this way. He can't get used to soft touches and nice words when they can be ripped away so easily.  
"Why are you here?" Jaskier asks and Geralt feels the dread in his stomach. He wanted to see Jaskier, thought the bard had been looking for him, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he did not want to see Geralt again. "You were looking for me." he says, with much more confidence than he feels, wincing slightly when his own voice strains the steady drum in his ears to new heights. Sometimes it's a good thing humans can't tell his reactions as easily. 

The bard looks at him, looks into his eyes without so much as a frown or a sharp intake of breath. Geralt hates those the most, the people pretending not to be afraid just to see their eyes widen, their breath quicken. They offer him hope just to destroy it on an instant. Not Jaskier though. He always looked at Geralt like he had looked forward to meeting him all day. His eyes seemed just that tiny shade of blue brighter once they met with his own. Geralt wanted to believe the bard was seeing him as a person, a friend, not a witcher, a monster, a machine created in pain for pain, not just the slitted eyes and unnatural color, seeing Geralt. Being met without fear is something the witcher will never get tired of. He wants to lean closer, to smell the lavender and pine and lack of adrenaline. But instead he takes something out of his pocket. When he saw the merchant sell it, a ring that had once belonged to nimble fingers on a lute, a ring he had stared at many times at camp, when it was too dark for humans to see but not too dark for Jaskier to play a slow tune into the night, he knew he had to get it back. Jaskier was vain and loud and talked too much and could surely live happily with only half as many doublets and silly hats but this ring was different. It wasn't posh and shiny, it was old, tiny scrapes and dents in the metal from daily life with it. Jaskier once said, in a quiet voice very unlike him and tinged in the smell of salt and sadness, it was the last thing his mother gave him before he left home and never saw her again. 

"Where did you find this?" Jaskier breath hitches, he looks like he's afraid to touch the ring. Geralt shrugs and grumbles something about a merchant and being given a discount. He doesn't say that he haggled for the price, that he slept under the stars the night after but with the ring as a tiny warm weight in his pocket. He doesn't say what that ring could mean for them. This tiny gesture, offering an old ring with a stone so small the silver that is holding it is almost worth more, let's Jaskiers shoulders relax entirely. Take away some of the weariness around his eyes. And let's him focus on the witcher on front of him again. He grabs a towel from the bar, the last clean one and some water and cleans the blood that started sticking to Geralt's face with an uncomfortable itch. This time, he doesn't shy away. 

When he cleans the cut, the drumming in Geralt's head, slow but steady and absolutely maddening becomes so loud, he winces, or what could be called a wince for him, the lines around his eyes and his jaw tighten for just a second. But Jaskier sees and Geralt feels a hand on his neck. Small, warm and steady. He feels a thumb on his jawline, slowly circling around the tense muscles there and feels himself putting a hand on Jaskier's hip. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He shouldn't risk losing one of the very few friends he has for a fleeting attraction. Because he's sure that's what this is for the bard. It's impossible that someone so bright and cheerful could ever want to spent his life with someone so dark. But that's just it, isn't it? The enigma? They already have spent their life together. Traveling for months, through dirt and pain and monster guts. And every evening those blue eyes and the smell of lavender and pine greeted him. It almost felt like safety. 

They're standing so very close, Geralt feels the warmth and worry radiating from his bard. His. When did Jaskier become his bard? He talks again and Geralt can barely follow. His head hurts and he is hungry but Jaskier wants to know who attacked, to pay them back. But Geralt knows better. They were young. They did what was taught to them. They attacked the monster when they saw it. 

Of course Jaskier disagrees that sentiment. He doesn't even let Geralt finish his ramble. Just when he tries to turn away, to not let this closeness continue, Jaskier takes his face, gently but its clear he demands his attention, and slowly, careful of his cut, puts their foreheads together. They're so close now. Geralt can smell the Ale the bard had for dinner and the ever underlying smell of lavender and pine. Geralt tries one last time to dissuade Jaskier from throwing his life away. From making this mistake of falling in love with a witcher. A creature he should fear and not embrace. "This is what I am, you need to stay away." 

Sad eyes look up at him and Geralt is so very glad the tavern has emptied by now, because he can't stand to see sadness in those eyes but would not have been able to even have this discussion with strangers around. "The time for that has come and gone, my friend." his bard says, still touching his neck like he's going to kiss him. "You shouldn't touch me." Geralt whispers, barely able to utter those lies. Because he wants nothing more. He can't remember the last time someone touched him gently. Just to feel skin on skin and not for any carnal desires.  
"I'll stop touching you if you want me to, not because I should." Jaskier whispers back, face so close Geralt feels his breath on his skin. Waiting for a rebuttal the witcher isn't able to utter anymore. He can't bring himself to fight this. He wants it so much. And as incredible as it is, Jaskier seems to want it as well. A hand, a wonderful warm, gentle hand, tangles his hair and soothes the never ending drumming in his head. Blue eyes, bright and fearless look into his own and seem to come to a conclusion. Hope blooms in them, when Jaskier slowly, very slowly, giving Geralt ample time to push him away, puts a small kiss on his cheekbone, on his jaw, works back to his ear and then to the spot just next to his lips. Geralt is afraid to move. Scared by how much he wants this and how much he doesn't deserve it. "Jaskier, I…" he tries to say but is silenced by a kiss. Warm lips meet his own, the kiss is short and sweet and Jaskier looks like he's afraid. Like Geralt would push him away now. And Geralt pushes. He pushes his body even closer the the bard, puts their lips together again, showing with actions what he can't articulate. 

When he stops to give Jaskier a moment to catch his breath, he feels his hand being taken. A small featherlight kiss is planted on his pulse, then on the back of his hand. The hands that are more often bloody than not and have slayn countless monsters and men. Geralt feels like a puddle. Like his emotions he isn't supposed to have will spill out of him if he even moves a muscle. When they stop touching and Jaskier tries to talk about their continued travels together, he feels like a clumsy child. Unsure how to move in a world that has just fundamentally changed. 

When they are on the road again, Geralt walking next to Roach, Jaskier at his side and are far away from human eyes, the witcher slowly takes the warm hand next to him and plants a tiny kiss on it. Acting like he doesn't see the wetness in Jaskier's eyes or the smile that won't leave the bard for the rest of the day.


End file.
